


(After Lil' Nugget)  You Made You

by LizardWhisperer



Series: Lil' Nugget Series [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: De-Aged Castiel (Supernatural), Demons, Fluff, The dark crystal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardWhisperer/pseuds/LizardWhisperer
Summary: Cas finds himself small again and in The Winchesters' care.  All is right--except it's not.





	1. Won't Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write just one more piece of SPN fan fiction before the end begins--tonight.

One, two, three, four, five—everywhere he looked, a demon crept from the shadows. On any given day, demons themselves weren’t a problem for the angel—all he had to do was get his hands on them and the smiting came easy. Worse case, he could expend some precious grace to smite a whole room, without laying a heavenly finger on a one of them. But this time, he was powerless against them. This time, Castiel stood trapped in the center of holy fire—and the demons kept coming and coming, climbing in through windows and doors, and pouring through the very cracks in the walls. The hoard of Hellspawn surrounded the ring of impossibly cool fire, closing in on the angel, who stood ready to defend himself with only a single blade.

Cas had beaten the odds to escape inescapable situations before, more times than not, thanks to Sam and Dean. Likewise, he’d pulled his human companions from the jaws of death time and time again. The three of them were just better together, most days. But monsters didn’t pick deli numbers and wait their turns, so on this day, the Winchesters were interviewing members of the forest service about murder victims discovered at the tops of redwood trees, while Cas investigated a town where people swore their family members, coworkers, and friends had changed, somehow, overnight. Well, a mass demon-possession was what the angel had suspected, but Cas was still taken by surprise when one he was tracking suddenly set the holy blaze around his feet. How would a demon get its hands on the most blessed oil of Jerusalem? No matter, she had it—and she had friends, lots and lots of friends. Cas lost count, as he spun in his prison, trying to face them all.

The demon stepped close to the fire it had lit and produced an angel blade from inside a striped sweater and held it high, watching the light flicker off the silver. 

Cas raised a glowing hand, “I won’t surrender.”

“Oh, good, good. We don’t want that.” The thing made the blonde lady it was possessing smile sweetly.

“What _do_ you want?”

The demon swung her arm and the blade flew forward—landing deep in the angel’s chest. As Cas collapsed to his knees, engulfed in the grace exploding from his wound, eyes, and mouth, the last thing he heard was the demon say, “We want you to die.”


	2. Between the Winchesters

Cas woke up in the Men of Letters bunker. Disoriented, he wasn’t quite sure where he was or how he’d gotten there. He was sure he had been attacked and wounded badly, yet he no longer felt his very essence bursting his vessel at its seams. He felt no pain. In fact, he felt great. Just to be sure, the angel touched his chest and found no injury there, only soft fleece. Fleece? Cas sat up in the bed—who’s bed? He looked around the dim, windowless room. Dean’s room. He looked down at the pudgy little hand on his chest and startled when he not only saw it but felt it move. It was _his_ pudgy little hand. In utter shock, Cas kicked his pudgy little legs, but stopped when he felt them warmed by something that slowly spread and—

“Hey, sleepyhead, you getting up today? We’re having pancakes.”

The light came on and Dean stepped through the door into his room, wearing an oven mitt and carrying a spatula. Cas burst into tears.

“Aw, Nugget, not again.”

Castiel sat in the bathtub, surrounded by sweet-smelling bubbles and floating Star Wars figures. His friend Dean had carried him, stripped off his wet ffootie pajamas, and plopped him into the bath, like it was an every day occurrence. The warm water felt glorious and soon Dean had soothed Cas’ tears to sniffles, rubbing a soapy sponge over his back. Cas recognized his toys and remembered warm baths fondly but still—

“Dean, how long have I been like this?”

Cas scrunched his face up as Dean wiped suds on the tip of his tiny nose.

“Like what? Adorable?”

“I was wounded in my adult vessel, Dean. Mortally, I think. Then I woke up small, again.”

Dean wrung the sponge out over Cas’s messy dark hair. “That’s quite a dream you had, Nugget. I thought you were through having nightmares.”

Cas reached up and grabbed Dean’s wrist with both hands, stopping him from lathering his hair. “I don’t think it was a dream, Dean. Please tell me, how long have I been like this?”

Dean considered the little serious face a moment, then pouted and shrugged, “I don’t know, Cas. Seems like we’ve been taking care of you forever. You know we don’t mind, right? Even when you wet my bed. Again.”

As Dean went back to shampooing Cas’ little head, the angel stared at Han Solo floating by. “But you do remember me full-sized, right? As an angel?”

Dean chuckled, “Oh yeah, Cas, who could forget Smitey McSmiterson himself? We stopped the apocalypse. You pissed off a hooker. Good times.”

“And how long ago was that?”

Dean tipped Cas back, supporting him with one hand, to rinse his hair. “Oh, I don’t know, it’s been a while. Hey,” Dean sat Cas back up and pulled the stopper. “Sam’s got a surprise for breakfast, buddy—and I hear it’s not creamed kale, this time.”

Dean finished rinsing off Cas, then wrapped him in a big, soft towel and scooped him up to his chest, where the bewildered little angel rested his damp head and sighed—whatever was going on, this felt good. While being a tiny human had its downside, Cas had missed being cared for this way and the easy affection Dean gave freely to his diminutive version. So content in Dean’s arms, Cas hadn’t noticed that he had skipped getting dressed until he lifted his head to find himself in the kitchen and looking into Sam’s smiling face. “Morning, Hun.”

Sam offered something on a fork that smelled like Christmas morning and Cas opened wide to taste warm cinnamon and chocolate chips, with melted butter and honey. Wow. That tasted way better than molecules. Before he knew it, Cas had opened his mouth for more and soon got all the bites he wanted, sat in his towel on Dean’s lap. The hunter dug into his own plate, stopping to help Cas get more in his mouth than on his round little face. 

“Mmmm, it’s good, Sammy.”

“Glad you approve, sir. Dean thought cinnamon and chocolate sounded gross, but it’s a classic combination—especially with dark cocoa chips.”

“Yes, Martha, we all agree you’ve got mad pancake skills.”

Cas giggled at Dean, while the hunter wiped his sticky chin and handed the little angel a sippy cup. Taking a long pull of cool milk, Cas looked up at Dean, then at Sam, then back at Dean. He felt safe there, with his full belly, enjoying the rumble of Dean’s laugh and the easiness between them all. And still—

“Sam, did you find a case?” Cas gestured toward the open laptop, put aside for their meal.

“Uh, yeah, those corpses in redwoods couldn’t have gotten there by any natural means. But it’s a long way to California, so I made a call to some West coast hunters to look into it.”

Cas eyed Sam suspiciously, as he stood and gathered the empty plates, “So, you and Dean aren’t planning to interview the forest service?”

“Naw, Martinez and Fisher can handle that—I told them to call if they needed me to do more research.”

Suddenly, Cas was tossed in the air, plopping back down into Dean’s arms, “Besides, we got the new Dark Crystal to watch today. _Skeksis is friiiieeend to angel_.”

The fun handling and Dean’s goofy voice caught the toddler off-guard and he burst into peals of laughter, contented to be carried off, squirming under tickling fingers.

It wasn’t long, before Cas was dressed in a Batman t-shirt and comfy sweatpants—enthralled in the land of Thra. The three only took bathroom and snack refill breaks, until Sam’s phone rang. The hunter took the call out of Cas’ earshot and returned shortly, sliding back under a corner of their shared blanket, “What did I miss?”

“We paused it. Was that about the Redwood murders?”

“Yeah, Cas. Turns out there’s a Wendigo out there that went off the rails when its cave was dynamited for a new bike path. The guys took care of it.”

Dean clicked the remote and said, through a mouthful of popcorn, “Aw, man, this dude with the zitty nose, again. Ew, don’t pick at it.”

Cas watched the gross villain rave about immortality a few moments, then asked, “Are we gonna check out that town where everybody changed?”

Dean looked at him funny. “You mean the one in Wyoming? Cas, we blessed the town’s reservoir and exorcised that whole place. Using that ball park PA system was your idea. Oh, look, the princess just remembered she has wings.”

Cas tried hard to remember his own wings, his fall, his grace—and standing in a circle of holy fire, surrounded by black eyes. The harder he thought about these things, the further they seemed to slip, just out of reach—and the more they felt like the bad dream that had made him wet the bed. Nestled between the Winchesters, surrounded in safety, Cas could believe it had been a dream.

They only picked at dinner, after gorging themselves on munchies the whole afternoon, and Cas spent some time repeatedly pushing his friend’s mushroom car off the Rainbow Bridge and giggling himself three shades of hysterical when Dean finally tossed his controller and announced that Mario Cart was “fixed.”

Cas forgot about the dream and had fun.

The little angel colored a picture of a unicorn, built and destroyed a tower of wooden blocks, and made up a song he called “Bouncing Forever and Ever,” while jumping on the couch cushions he scattered around the library. He picked out Cookie Monster pajamas and enjoyed making a milk mess, dunking Oreos.

Sam had to carefully toe his way through a garrison of plastic dinosaurs, to scoop up the yawning toddler and carry him, with a fresh sippy cup to Dean’s bed, made up with fresh linens. Cas whined a bit, when his drowsy head was pried off Sam’s shoulder, but settled quickly again, under Dean’s arm. He felt a kiss in his hair, “’Night, Hun,” and curled into Dean’s side, warm and blissful.


	3. Not Really

Cas woke up, with a start. He covered his mouth with a sweaty little hand, to stifle a gasp. There had been fire and evil and a taken town and a—a Wendigo? No, that wasn’t right, was it? As the dream again faded, Cas sat up on the memory foam, unable to shake the _not right_ feeling. Beside him, Dean stirred, rolling in his sleep and grappling to bring Cas closer. Resisting the urge to squash the _not right_ away in strong hunter arms, the little angel squashed his pillow in instead and quietly slid from the bed. He dropped to the floor, his pj feet silent against the rug, as he crept from the room. Cas made his way through the dark bunker, to the door, where he had to go gather and stack some of his versatile couch cushions to reach the handle. He tugged with all his little might, but the hinges wouldn’t budge.

Cas thought of the garage, but knew he had no chance of lifting the roll-up door, so he headed up to the catwalk, above the main library. His ascent was slow-going, short legs tackling one step at a time, but finally he reached the landing and looked up at the dark windows above him—way above him. Feeling every bit of his small size, Cas carefully climbed the ladder that led to the higher book shelves. Taking a deep breath, the little angel stepped off onto a shelf edge and slowly shimmied his way to the window, where he peered into—blackness. No clouds, no moon, no stars. Huh. Daring to let go of his grip, Cas wiped at the glass with his sleeve. Nothing. Just his reflection staring back at him, with wide blue eyes. Cas watched while his image blurred, through tears of frustration.

“It’s not right.”

“No, Castiel, it’s not.”

Startled, the toddler lost his grip and fell headlong from the towering shelf.

Cas squeezed his stinging eyes shut, but felt himself land not on the hard floor, but in sure arms.

“You’re ok, buddy. You can look.”

Trembling from his fall, Cas opened one eye to see—

“Chuck?”

With a shrug and a bearded smirk, Chuck said, “Well, yeah—guess it’s a bit much to expect you to call me Dad.”

Chuck carried the angel down the stairs, wiping his little face dry with miraculous fingers. As they descended, the lights in the bunker came on, revealing dinosaurs and couch cushions, and an open package of cookies. “You have to admit, aside from the things that weren’t right, there were a lot that were. Looks like you had a good time.”

“Y-you made this?”

“No, Cas,” Chuck tapped his tiny nose, “_You_ did. It’s your Heaven, son—the only one like it.” 

Chuck took a seat at the map table, offering the child on his lap an Oreo. Cas accepted it politely, but didn’t take a bite. “So, the dream—the holy fire and the blade. I'm...dead?”

“I’m afraid so, kiddo.”

A glass of fresh milk appeared and Cas moistened his cookie, without thinking. Again, he didn’t eat it.

“So, they’re not real. They're not really Sam and Dean.”

“They’re as real as you want them to be. You know how Heaven works, Castiel. The only reason you saw the things that were wrong, were because you wanted to.”

Cas nodded sadly at his soggy cookie. “But, I’m an angel, we don’t get a Heaven. We go…we go where it’s empty.”

Cas’ eyes swelled again, in spite of himself. Sam and Dean weren’t really taking care of him, not them, really and he wasn’t really a toddler--so why did this feel so devastating?

“Aw, easy, bud.” Chuck drew his little angel close and Cas felt more love than he ever had, in all his millennia. He knew The Winchesters loved him and he loved them back, with all he had, but this was love itself and so altogether overwhelming, the tears poured from a place much deeper than his eyes.

“I gave you a soul, Castiel—out of all my angels, just you. With a soul, comes a Heaven, of your very own.”

“Th-thank you, Father.”

“Call me Chuck.”

“But why?”

“Cuz I like you, Cas. You’re very likable, you know. My awkward little fish; funny and endearing, and flawed—yet BAMF, when it counts most. Yes, Cas, you are likable.”

“You made me.”

“I created you—_you_ made you. The Winchesters helped.”

“I need them.”

“They’re here, little one.”

“Not really.”

Chuck sighed, “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

Pawing at his wet face, Cas sat back in his father’s arms, “You were afraid?”

“In the same way I was afraid you’d get that cookie all over my robe.”

Cas looked down at the chocolate mess in his hand.

“Bedtime for angels.”


	4. His Rightful Place

Like that, Cas was back in Dean’s bed, shoving away the pillow and taking his rightful place, in his hunter’s arms. He looked forward to a sleepless, dreamless night, right here, where he obviously wanted to be. What was Heaven, if not what you wanted? In time, maybe he’d forget, maybe the dream would become just that and this would be real, all of it. Maybe he could stop questioning and just enjoy this, this unique gift his father saw fit to grant only to him. Maybe.

But the rest of the night wasn’t sleepless or dreamless and soon Cas drifted off. The demons were back and this time they had captives—the people of the Wisconsin town who knew their families and neighbors weren’t their own. Cas stared through the flames at the desperate, terrified people, and knew he had to save them—all of them. 

He saw the demon in the sweater and in one move, flung the angel blade from his sleeve across the flames and into its blonde head. The demon inside crackled and sputtered and the whole blonde, bloody, sweatered mess crumpled to the floor. Suddenly, an alarm sounded and water rained down from the ceiling. The demons let go of their captors, as they writhed and smoked, the room a mass of screams. Soon, the fire around Cas was out and the angel darted through the smoldering creatures and panicked people and out the door.

Arriving at the ball field, Cas turned to see dark shapes behind him, as more poured out of the building on the hill, its fire alarm still blaring. The angel ran across the field, toward the announcer’s booth, demons in tow. Suddenly, the field was awash with light, as speakers squealed atop high poles. 

“_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas omnis incursion.”_

Sam Winchester’s voice rang out across the field, echoing into the town.

“_Omnis legio! Omnis con... potestas, omnis incursion…”_

Most of the demons had fallen in their tracks, as the exorcism went on, but a few stumbled, choking and sputtering at Cas’s back. As the angel turned to fight them off, hands grabbed his coat and yanked him inside the announcer’s booth. Dean slammed and locked the door behind them, giving Cas the once-over, to be sure he wasn’t harmed.

As Sam finished, the sky around them was filled with roiling, black smoke, which flew away in screaming columns and dissipated into the air. The people of Spring Hills, Wisconsin stumbled slowly to their feet, rubbing their heads and hugging their loved ones. 

“Check it out, I think we saved this whole town.”

“Almost, Sam,” said Cas, watching the bewildered people pick up the pieces of their night, “I killed a demon before I escaped the holy fire.”

“I heard she might make it.”

All three men jumped, as they turned to see a young boy with light wavy hair, standing inside the locked booth and wearing a long, striped bath robe. Cas thought for a moment he recognized the child as one captured by the demons—then he realized he just recognized him.

“But I think Karen's gonna need a new sweater.”


	5. This Gift

“We weren’t even halfway through Colorado when Martinez called to say he and Fisher had the Wendigo. That’s when he gave us the tip on the Hell’s gate in Wisconsin. Seems some historical society decided to restore the old iron train tracks to bring tourists in—replaced it with steel.”

“Just don’t make devil’s traps like they used to, Sammy.”

“It would seem not, Dean. How did you find me?”

“It’s a tiny town, Cas—we just looked for the flaming angel.”

Sam shook his head, “It was the middle of the night and the whole place was dark, save for town hall. Thought it was a little late to be hashing out building permits. We got lucky with blessing the reservoir.”

“I pulled the fire alarm. Just like high school, I had to run like Hell.”

“Thank you for that, Dean. Thank you both, if you hadn’t come to help me—”

“Thank _you_, Cas—the loudspeakers were your idea.”

“My--?”

“Remember when you were just a nugget and we took you to see the JayHawks? You kept covering your little ears and complaining that the announcers were loud enough to wake the demons.”

Cas scratched at his stubble, lost in memory. “I do remember that day.”

“Dean wanted to tell you the expression is _wake the dead_, but you were so cute, I wouldn’t let him. And what do you know, you were right.”

The Winchester brothers went to bed, and Cas found himself once again alone in the bunker, late at night. The angel stood and looked up between the highest book shelves. Through the window, the stars shone brightly in the clear night sky. Cas glanced at a few books, then poked his head into each Winchester’s bedroom. Satisfied that they were safe, Cas made his way to the room the brothers had made for the angel. He slipped off his coats and reclined on the bed, resigned to yet another sleepless, dreamless night.

Cas closed his eyes to meditate and reflect on his latest experiences.

“I found him, Sam!”

Cas opened his eyes to see Dean sitting beside him. The hunter touched Cas’ cheek.

“Hey, what’ya doing, buddy?”

Cas was about to answer, when Dean scooped the surprised little angel up in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Cas.”

Dean carried Cas down the hall, where he met Sam, looking anxious. “Hey, Hun, don’t scare us like that, ok? Since when do you nap in _your_ room? Thought that was your storage locker.”

A bath, ice cream, and a movie marathon later, The Winchesters’ charge once again grew sleepy. Dean tucked him in, with a kiss goodnight and the sound advice to not let the bed bugs bite. “I’ll be in a few minutes, Nugget—don’t hog the blanket.”

As Cas drifted off, he prayed, “Thank you, Father, for creating this gift.”

Chuck looked down on his little angel.

“Come back any time you want. I created it, but _you_ made it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
Thanks for coming along. I think I'm a bit disturbed going into SPN's last season with Chuck being as he is. Part of me still wants him to turn out to be Jessie--remember Jessie, the AntiChrist?
> 
> Anyway, I love Chuck and always wanted Cas to get his moment with his Dad.  
And what doesn't our lil' angel deserve?


	6. Not a Chapter: ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By Reafre

[](https://imgur.com/k357IUq)


End file.
